


Mark's Mask Collection

by The_Ace_Anon



Series: The 'I love hurting my friends with angst and then healing them with fluff only to hurt them more'  series [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gore, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:40:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24082990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Ace_Anon/pseuds/The_Ace_Anon
Summary: The Actor decides to add a new mask to his collection. AKA Darkwarf on tumblr gave me a great serial killer Actor idea that I couldn't just pass up.
Relationships: Darkiplier/Wilford Warfstache, Mark Fischbach & Darkiplier, Mark Fischbach & Mark Fischbach, Mark Fischbach/Mark Fischbach, The Actor & Darkiplier
Series: The 'I love hurting my friends with angst and then healing them with fluff only to hurt them more'  series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737502
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Mark's Mask Collection

Dark ran through the city streets, his feet splashing in muddy puddles, rain soaking his suit, his hair, his body. He didn’t care. He’d been searching for days now, long days without sleep or proper food, looking for the missing egos. He’d should have started looking sooner, at first only a few had disappeared and it was normal for figments to disappear for a few days, but he should have known something was wrong when Edward didn’t return from his shift at the hospital, when Oliver failed to show up to help him one day. Now more than half of the egos were gone, taken away by an unknown person. 

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath and ordered his aura to spread out and search for any sign, any clue that a figment was nearby. He was slightly surprised when it came back positive and even more surprised when it came back in warning, ringing in an alarming tone. He didn’t have time to ask what had happened before someone grabbed him from behind and jammed something into his neck. Dark pushed them away and ordered his aura to attack, or at least….he tried to. He was having trouble focusing on whoever attacked him and his head felt…..really…..reallly….foggy? Yes, foggy...that-that was a….word and a thing and….a……...Dark’s aura attacked his attacker…...and then he was on the floor laying in a puddle of water and he had a moment to wonder how exactly he’d ended up on the ground before the blackness around his vision closed in.

When Dark woke up he was chained up and tied up in a chair, in an unfamiliar room that smelled horrible. It took him a few moments of blankly staring at the wall, trying to get his spriling vision to focus, to realize why it smelled so bad. Up on the blood-covered walls….were faces. Hundreds of different faces, most of them rotting and falling off, pinned up and contorted into different expressions. A few of the faces had hearts kept in glass boxes under them, the hearts dripping liquid and slowly rotting. Dark almost threw up, the stench of rotting flesh over-powering. He heard a door open and he jerked his head towards the sound, wanting to know who was sick enough to do this to someone, who was demented enough to cut off another’s face and put it up as if it were a trouphy. He was almost surprised when his eyes met those of the Actor’s.

Mark smiled at him. “Dames! So nice to finally see you awake, I was starting to get bored waiting for you.”

“What the  _ fuck _ is wrong with you?” Dark repiled, too horrified to give his usual death threat whenever the two of them met.

Mark frowned. “What’s wrong with me? Nothing wrong with me Damien, why are you-oh...is it because of my mask collection?” He asked, gesturing at the walls. He chuckled. “Many do find it slightly shocking at first, I suppose mask collecting isn’t a normal hobby. It’s quite impressive don’t you think? I try to find as many different faces as I can, be inclusive. It’s taken me awhile to build it up to this point, I’m somewhat proud of it.”

“Proud of it?! Proud of what?? Killing people and tearing apart their bodies? Cutting out their hearts and faces and putting them up for a collection?! Do you even realize how sick that is?”

The Actor smiled. “You live, oh sorry, used to live with murders and cannibals. How is that any different? And I don’t tear out all the organs, only the heart, and only for a few. After all my heart was cruelly torn out, why should I not do the same to others?”

“Used to-what did you do to them?” Dark snarled. “I swear if you hurt ANY OF THEM-” His aura burst out in his anger, his rage, and a horrible, white pain filled his entire being. Dark might have screamed, he wasn’t sure, it hurt too much to tell. The pain ripped through him and tore him apart, burst open his skull, broke his bones, drowned him. And just as he was about to pass out, it stopped. He could still feel echoes of it, still see white at the edges of his vision. The Actor was talking but the ringing in his ears distorted the words. Then he was moving, his chair being pulled away somewhere, away from the masks and the hearts and the blood.

They entered a different room, and the Actor turned his chair so he was facing the back wall. Dark threw up, the contents of his stomach splatting the blood soaked floor. He didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to face the horrors on that wall, but the Actor pulled on his hair, forcing him to look at the back wall. The wall was covered in ‘masks’. Unlike the previous room they all had the same face but Dark could still pick them apart. In the upper-right corner was Edward’s, his face twisted to make it look like he was crying, his blood dripping from his eyes. And then on the left side of the wall was Oliver, covered in oil and still with bits of metal stuck to it. They were all there, Yancy, Illinouis, Eric, Bim, all of them. Every ego that had gone missing, every figment that was unaccounted for. Pinned up on the wall like trophies, like prizes, as if they hadn’t been people, as if they hadn’t been his  _ family.  _ Tears ran down his face, if he had just looked a little harder, a little sooner, he could have found them in time, he could have stopped this. This was all his fault.

“Aw, don’t cry Dames. It’s alright.” Dark glanced at the Actor...who had pulled out a large, blood-covered knife. “ **You’ll get to join them soon** .” And Mark advanced.

\-------

Wilford teleported into the mansion and began to frantically search the rooms. He’d done it, he’d tracked down who’d been kidnapping the egos, stealing away his family. It’d been hard but he’d finally done it. Now he could grab his husband and his family and get home and finally, finally everything would be ok. He just had to find them. Dark had gone missing a few weeks ago and WIll was sure he was pissed that it was taking him so long to find him. But it would be ok, at least Dark would be with him and not trapped somewhere.

He broke into another room and paused, the walls in this room were covered in faces and blood and organs. Wilford shook his head, it didn’t matter, all that mattered was finding his family. He went through the room and felt a burst of excitement when he discovered a hidden passage in the walls. Perfect, they had to be in here, and Will could just free them and teleport them out and- he froze. They-they were here. All of them, all of the missing egos. All here, their faces cut off and on the wall covered in their blood. And in the middle of the faces, was a grey-skinned one.

  
A sob broke out of his mouth and Wilford fell to his knees, tears dripping down his face and onto the floor. He’d been too late…. _ too late _ …..if he had just been faster- if he had just been more careful- if had had just kept them closer- but he hadn’t. He hadn’t and now Dark was dead, Oliver was dead, Bim was dead, Issac was dead, they were all dead dead dead dead dead dead  **dead.** His family was gone, had been destroyed, and it was all his fault. The door opened with a quiet creak and there was a small gasp. Wilford didn’t react, not even at the sounds of a knife being brought out and advancing foot-steps. His family had died because of him, again. And without Bim there to joke with and work with, without Edward there to annoy with endless questions and injuries, without Yancy to sing with and perform with, without Dark there to cuddle with at night and give quick surprise kisses to and watch movies with and have those stupid meaningless agruments with over flowers and hug and hold close and tell bad jokes to until he finally laughed and that bright feeling that bloomed whenever Dark laughed because his laugh was the most beautiful thing in the world….what was the point in life. Why should he continue when everyone around him was dead...and he was the one who killed them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated. I'm much more active on my tumblr (aka this was posted a month ago on tumblr and I'm only just posting it now here) which is the-pan-anon.


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